the point of no return?

So. Do you think, after a certain period of time, there’s no turning back?
Perhaps you get just too comfortable looking after yourself?

You have to, just so that every crumb of your everyday existence, from changing oil in your car, to carrying side tables, to screwing in new lightbulbs, to life insurance, is taken care of good and proper?

Thought about it the other day – after more than a year single – I’ve managed to cope rather decently with:
1) Valentine’s Day. Which is worse than:
2) Birthdays
3) Christmas
4) Having to deal with crises like death/car troubles/retrenchments/dramas on your own.

Once you’ve done those things, and survived relatively unscathed, you shift it up another few gears, cranking it to the point where you buy your own perfume, jewellery, skimpy negligee, dinner, sexual playtime paraphernalia, holidays. And you don’t think twice about it.

If a dude stumbled into my independent little life, and got any of these things for me, it would be grand, sure. The welcome surprise on top of basic necessities that now include things I didn’t usually buy myself when I have been seeing someone.

I mean, I thought briefly about buying my own flowers. Then realised, “Shit.”

Maybe it’ll make my counter look all feminine and pretty, and it sure would be the nail in the coffin of all my domestic goddess goals. However.

Is it shooting a fly with a cannonball again?

Sometimes I think I’d love someone to look after me. You know, do the laundry and ironing and cooking.

Kidding. No seriously.

I can do everything I need to do on my own at this very moment – including starting to plan a holiday trekking through Vietnam and bits of China at the end of the year by myself – but sometimes men are just…larger.

And more all ‘rah’ about being the big protective shield and alpha-male, and really, they do a great job at it.

Some things are better done by a guy.

Like if I am walking down a dark alley and a skabenga jumps out, he can protect me, armour twinkling in the moonlight. Or know the difference between an IRP5 and an H1B. Or the difference between a diff lock and gorilla lock.
Yes, there are definitely parts of me that would love looking after, and it could make life easier in many ways.

I’m just not sure if I’ll be able to let go of running every single milli-aspect of my life by myself, that easily.

Should the time ever arise, of course, that someone does want to share the responsibility with me.
From my standpoint, on my little island, I just see co-existence/co-dependence seriously raising expecatations, where, right now I only have to rely on myself for everything.

And frankly, I trust what I’m doing. And it gets done. Eventually.

Despite the cooking and gardening abilities. But I’ve had two meals - of gourmet fashion and presentation - cooked just for little old me over the last month. So whose complaining?

The plastic patio plants need a run in with the Dust Buster by a semi-naked wonton god who looks exactly like Richard Hammond – no wait, is Richard Hammond – while I watch, though.